


Love's Musketeer, Chapter 7

by Angelise (angelise7)



Series: Love's Musketeer [7]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Read the series notes!, Romance, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-07
Updated: 2003-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A time to love and a time to kill the Cardinal!  Maybe.  ;-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Musketeer, Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

> There is mention of a special piece of jewelry in this chapter. Originally, this section of the series was written during the Xmas season of 1999. As a gift to the list I was posting it to, I penned a short snippet that had the four men enjoying a quiet holiday interlude in which they exchanged presents. Porthos received a decorative sash to wear with his uniform. Aramis was given the book of sonnets he attempts to read in this chapter. D'Artagnan, obviously, was gifted with a bracelet of gold braiding by Athos. And he, in turn, gave his lover an ornate silver cross and chain, his words to the older Musketeer as he handed him his gift, "I. I had it blessed. It will protect you from all evil. Guard you against any harm. Defend you when I am not able."
> 
> Now you know the rest of the story!

A breathless moan whispered into the room's silence, the sound quickly disintegrating into a hoarse cry of need, its plea answered by a throaty howl of completion. As the voices tumbled into incoherency, two sweat-slick bodies rose from the tangled sheets and embraced briefly, their flesh gleaming in the glow of the fireplace's sleepy embers as they fell back on the bed. 

With a happy sigh, D'Artagnan collapsed on Athos' chest and his curls became a silky blanket spread across their naked torsos. For several minutes he whispered words of love to the Musketeer before pushing himself upright and watching his lover struggle to regain control of his body. Just the mere sight of Athos' broad shoulders and smooth chest stirred D'Artagnan's desire again and, after taking a deep breath, he attacked the man's nipples and nursed upon them as if he was starved for nourishment. His mouth was unforgiving, teasing the erect nubs with quick swipes, lazy licks and sharp bites. And, when his mouth wasn't feeding upon them, his fingers pinched and pulled on the sensitive peaks. Smiling mischievously, he continued to torture the older man, reveling in the sensual arching of Athos' body every time he left his mark on his battle-hardened body. With each bite, the large cock that remained impaled in his tight ass twitched convulsively--lengthening, filling, hardening, and D'Artagnan thrilled to the fullness that signaled another wild riding. 

"My beloved swordsman is ready for another duel? Shall I sharpen my blade and engage this worthy opponent?" 

The youth pushed down on Athos' cock as his hands mapped the contours of his lover's flat abdomen. Reaching behind himself, he gathered the Musketeer's heavy ballsac in his grip and squeezed tenderly. A throaty growl and violent bucking of hips greeted his wanton touch. 

"Does my captain object to this offensive tactic? Shall I try another move?" 

Without warning, the young Musketeer grabbed Athos' shoulders, pulling him upright, his teeth latching onto the man's lower lip, biting swift and hard. His bathed the wound with the moist fire of his tongue before engaging in a deep, wet, heated exploration of Athos' mouth. Young, agile hips rode the experienced blade of flesh and blood, thrusting and retreating, the rhythm a tease of slow and gentle, hard and fast. A skilled, callused hand parried the lad's attack with a proven battle move, trapping the junior sword of flesh in a teasing grip. Strangled moans slipped out as both cocks surrendered, relinquishing their precious seed, the proof of their capitulation staining the skin of their captors. 

First to recover again, D'Artagnan leaned back and smiled at his exhausted lover. He licked his lips in delight as his eyes beheld the love bites that were scattered across Athos' darkly tanned skin, the boneless sprawl of his long legs and arms, the muscular chest that was agitated by deep harsh breaths. Lifting off carefully, the youth rolled to his side and surveyed the length of the flaccid cock that now lay across Athos' thigh, large even in its slumbering state. 

A slow, lazy rumble tickled the boy's ears. "Inspecting the troops, Monsieur? Do they pass muster?" 

A deliberate caress woke the lead Musketeer's drowsy erection. "Well, there's this one old timer who needs a little...." D'Artagnan dissolved into laughter as talented fingers attacked his tummy and chest. 

Athos pulled the lad close, capturing the sounds of happiness with a kiss. "Boy! Be careful who you call _old_!" 

A knock on the door snagged their attention and they found Aramis peeking in, a wide smile on his face. 

"Gentlemen! If you have sufficiently recovered from your strenuous, and might I add, quite boisterous, maneuvers, Porthos and I would appreciate the two of you taking your turn at guard duty." A pillow smacked the dark-haired Musketeer in the face. 

"Shortly, Aramis. We will be with you shortly." Another missile of encased goose feathers flew across the room, hitting the retreating Musketeer on the derrire. The door to the bedchamber was shut quickly, Aramis' laughter trailing down the stairs. 

Entering the inn's dining area, the younger man waved at his lover, signaling the accomplishment of his mission. Porthos nodded and turned toward the kitchen, seeking a late night snack of bread, cheese and wine for the two of them. Humming, Aramis made himself comfortable at a table in the far corner, next to the fireplace and, after pulling out his cherished collection of love sonnets, he lost himself in the words of devotion and passion. 

Several moments later a shadow fell across the pages of his book. Glancing up, an adoring look on his face, Aramis was horrified to find himself staring at the menacing features of Rochefort. A cruel hand tangled itself in his hair, yanking his head back so that a sharp blade rested against his throat. 

"Good evening, my sweet priest. Where's that toothless dog who claims to be your lover?" 

Rochefort's gloved hand clamped down over the Musketeer's mouth, preventing any words of protest or warning. Aramis' tunic was then ripped open, Rochefort's blade slashing through all bindings. Savage fingers tortured the man's exposed nipples, brutally pinching and twisting the nearly healed flesh. A slobbering wet mouth replaced the muzzling hand as Rochefort raped the young soldier with his lips and tongue. He straddled Aramis lean hips, his engorged cock pounding ruthlessly against the Musketeer's groin. 

"How does it feel, Aramis? Do your loins ache to be ridden by a swordsman with strength and vigor? Taken by a warrior that does not complain of aching joints and tired limbs?" Rochefort slammed his pelvis against Aramis, his tongue plundering deeper, his fingers bruising tender flesh. Ignoring the muffled cries of rage, the Cardinal's one-eyed demon follower pulled at the ties of Aramis' breeches. "Let's see if your priestly sword wants to come out and grant me absolution?" 

The madman never had the chance to complete his licentious foray. An incensed bellow of fury splintered the night and a human vise gripped Rochefort by the neck, wrenching him away from Aramis. With inhuman strength, Porthos threw the man across the room and drew his sword, slowly advancing upon the fallen guard, the intent to kill gleaming in his dark eyes. 

Just at that moment, the innkeeper's son came out of the kitchen and, upon taking one glance at the armed men, ran for the stairs. Pounding on the door to Athos and D'Artagnan's room, he yelled for help. "Fight, Messieurs! Fight!" 

The older Musketeer threw the door open, his weapon in his hand. In the same instant, the Cardinal stepped from his chamber, his crucifix and bible clutched to his chest. 

The young boy gestured wildly, pointing downstairs. "Fight! Your comrades...." 

Athos turned toward the Cardinal. "Please stay in your room, your Eminence. And secure the door. Do not open it for anyone but me." The older Musketeer charged down the stairs. 

"D'Artagnan!" 

The youth's voice rang out, "I'm right behind you, Athos. Let me get my boots on." 

A minute later, D'Artagnan rushed out of the room and straight into the arms of a cloaked man. A hood was thrown over his head, obscuring his sight as he was dragged from the hallway. Seconds before the butt of a blade made contact with his jaw, he heard the honeyed sweetness of female laughter. Stars exploded behind his eyes and his thoughts faded into an empty blackness. 

Athos burst from the stairs, skidding across the floor to flank his brother-in-arms. His gaze quickly took in the sight of Rochefort lying on the floor. Blood dripped from numerous wounds on the man's upper and lower torso, a tribute to Porthos' skill with the sword. A scarlet trail trickled from the corner of Rochefort's mouth, making his evil smile grotesque. 

"Gentlemen! Again, to what do I owe this honor?" he asked as he roughly wiped his mouth clean. 

Struggling to his feet, Rochefort fearlessly waved his sword at the two men standing in front of him, his gaze simmering with hunger as the disheveled form of the young priest moved to join his partners. Looking over the shoulders of the two men, his eyes widened minutely in recognition of the shadows that silently crept across the far wall of the inn and slipped into the darkness. A depraved smile suddenly danced across his face. 

"Ahh... the King's beloved Musketeers. Athos! Porthos! And Aramis!" Rochefort laughed as he inquired, "And just where is the youngest member of this fearless foursome?" Bracing himself against the wall, Rochefort stood, the smile on his face taunting the Musketeer captain. 

A subtle movement of hand and arm, a glint of steel and Athos' sword wounded Rochefort, the blade sliding silently into the flesh of his thigh. He crumbled to the floor again, a crimson stain spreading across his uniform pants. 

"Guard him, Porthos. Do not let this vermin crawl away." 

A third sword thrust forward, aimed at the fallen man's groin. "Do not fear, Athos. This vile snake will not escape us." Aramis stepped closer to his lover, his face twisted with an unmerciful smile. His features softened slightly when gentled by the comforting touch of Porthos' hand to his shoulder. 

"If any harm has befallen my young comrade," Athos warned. The Musketeer leaned down, his hand capturing Rochefort's tunic, pulling him close. "You... will... die!" His grip transferred to the man's throat, tightening imperceptibly with each word spoken. Athos' eyes, dark with bitter loathing, promised a slow and excruciatingly painful death and the sudden release of his grip tumbled the wounded Rochefort back to the floor. 

Without wasting another second, the swordsman bolted for the stairs, taking two and three steps at a time. He found the darkened hallway deserted. Throwing the door open wide, Athos quickly assessed the emptiness of their bedchamber. A hint of gold winked at him from the bed and he moved closer, blade drawn, fear strangling his swiftly beating heart. His sword dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers and crashed to the floorboards. Identifying the gleaming item on the bed, Athos felt his legs buckle and he fell to his knees. 

D'Artagnan's gold bracelet, broken, stained with blood, was nestled among the wrinkled linens. Athos clasped the treasured token of love and devotion to his heart, his fingers gripping the simple braiding with crazed desperation. His heart shattered, his lips whispering his beloved's name over and over as he bowed his head and touched his lips to the cold metallic links, a single fallen tear mingling with the droplets of blood. 

Fear transformed into anger--anger boiled over into a blinding rage as Athos threw back his head and roared, the sound reverberating off the wooden timbers of the roof. Thoughts and emotions coalesced into action and, with a silent prayer to God, asking for absolution, the Musketeer picked up his sword and wrapped the gold braiding around the hilt of the blade. His task completed, he quickly left the room, his eyes thunderous black with hatred. 

Athos paused for a mere second in the hallway. The unfamiliar scents that had assaulted his nose when he had kissed D'Artagnan's bracelet still lingered in the air. He traced them to the small alcove that sheltered the door to Richelieu's chamber and found they were joined with that of the Cardinal's and a perfume that was hauntingly familiar. Stepping next to the door, Athos rested his face against the rough wooden surface and closed his eyes, concentrating on the air he was slowly breathing in and out. It took him no time at all to discover the collections of scents emanated from within the holy man's chambers. 

With a touch of his sword to his heart, he slammed against the door, breaking the bolted latch. Bursting into the room, he quickly dispensed of the young assistant who met him with a dagger in his hand. Athos laughed as he knocked the weapon to the floor and hurled him into the hallway. The Cardinal looked up from his study of a large manuscript, completely unconcerned at Athos' abrupt entrance. He templed his fingers and stared at the invader, his scornful countenance mocking, his lips curved in a sneer at the sight of the blade that was poised over his heart. 

Athos' peripheral senses detected Aramis' presence. His gaze and sword never wavered, holding Richelieu motionless in his chair as he gave instructions to the young Musketeer standing in the doorway. "D'Artagnan has been taken. Arrange for a message to be sent to Paris informing the King. Also, request assistance from our headquarters." 

"You're wasting your time, old friend. The boy is long gone." A scoffing chuckle followed the Cardinal's quietly spoken words. 

Athos sliced Richelieu across the cheek with his sword. "Quickly saddle the horses, Aramis. The kidnappers cannot have gotten too far away." 

Aramis began to whisper a warning. "Athos...." 

The older man held out his hand. "Give me your sword." 

Aramis started to protest and Athos silenced him with a single, deadly look. The weapon was handed over, a slender hand offering a quick touch of sympathy. Athos shook off the comforting contact. "Leave, Aramis. I do not want you to be witness to the murder I'm about to commit." 

Aramis attempted one last time to reason with his captain. "Athos! Please! Do not do this." 

"Leave us! NOW!" Athos kicked the door shut, all evidence of compassionate humanity vanishing from his face. 

With a quick flick of his wrist, Athos divested Richelieu of his holy adornments. He snarled at the older man, each word he spoke drenched with hostility. "Strip. Your hallowed robes will not protect your soul now. Tonight there is only me and you, Richelieu. Man against man." The slender blade carved a long jagged rent in the scarlet material. "If I go to hell it is because I have killed a demonic bastard not a man of the cloth." 

Athos stepped back, allowing his enemy to remove his outer garments, revealing the simple attire of cotton shirt, breeches and boots. With a heartless laugh the Musketeer tossed the borrowed sword to the silent Cardinal. "Defend yourself. For tonight, you return to the devil that spawned you." 

After lifting and kissing the small crucifix that lay hidden beneath his shirt, Richelieu brandished his weapon with graceful expertise. "Before you kill me, wouldn't you like to know _why_ D'Artagnan was taken?" 

Swords arched, catching the light of the scattered candlelight as they engaged in deadly combat. Athos ignored the man, his mind totally focused upon inflicting as much pain and torture before administering the killing thrust. Richelieu parried a mortally wounding lunge, the shadowed gloom of his voice insinuating itself into the silence, twisting around Athos' heart. 

"Tonight, Athos, you will lose forever your cherished beloved. On this night, the anniversary of my sweet lover's death, I will take from you as you stole from Rogert from me. Bid adieu to the man your heart and soul has embraced." 

A mournful lament ravaged the night's shroud of silence as blades once again tangled in the fateful dance of death. 

* * *

End

**Author's Note:**

> Cast of characters: Athos-Jim, D'Artagnan-Blair, Porthos-Simon, Aramis-Rafe, King Louis-OC, Phillipe, King's consort-OC, Cardinal Richelieu-Garett Kincaid, Rochefort-Lee Brackett, Duke of Buckingham-Stephen Ellison, Henri Phillipe-Henri Brown, Lady de Winter-Carolyn Plummer, Rogert-OC 
> 
> 1\. This is set in a GAY universe. Most every character is GAY.  
> 2\. If you're looking for a work of literary excellence with in-depth plots and insightful thoughts from the characters, you're in the wrong place.  
> 3\. Please remember this series was written purely for fun! Romance and sex, with a little sword play thrown in for good measure--that's the way I wrote it.


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